


Seven Years and a Thousand Candles

by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for



Series: Johnlock Trope Challenge [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anniversary, Challenge Response, Declarations Of Love, Johnlock Trope Challenge, M/M, Marriage Proposal, One Shot, Romance, Sweet, Tropes, of a nontraditional sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1845301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221b_careful_what_you_wish_for/pseuds/221b_careful_what_you_wish_for
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John surprises Sherlock by showing him something unexpected under the table, but not what you might think. Set slightly in the future.</p><p>For Day 23 of the Johnlock Trope Challenge: Under the Table</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Years and a Thousand Candles

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note that this is a series of one-shots for a challenge and these stories will be wildly different in style and tone as I try out some new things. They aren't meant to connect to each other in any way. There's a 48-hour window to write and submit these, so results may vary!

Sherlock had received the text from John a few hours ago.

_You didn’t do the shopping. Again. Dinner at Angelo’s at 7?_

No, Sherlock had not done any shopping. Instead, he’d gotten a bit caught up in something at the lab that involved a leg bone, the details of which John might think unsuitable for dinner conversation.

He checked his watch. He was running late, but soon entered the familiar restaurant, found John waiting with a glass of wine at the table by the window, a book in hand. He’d learned to bring reading material whenever he made plans with Sherlock.

John looked up. “Lab?”

“Lab,” Sherlock confirmed, taking off his coat and draping it across an extra chair.

“So you’ll eat?”

“The penne.”

“Good. Because that’s what I ordered for you.”

Angelo appeared at that moment and presented two plates, returning with a glass of wine for Sherlock, and again with a candle. John had stopped protesting about that addition long ago.

John stabbed a piece of pasta with his fork, took a bite. “I was working on the blog today, looking back at some of the past cases. Do you know what I realized?”

“That it’s mostly about me?” Sherlock answered, probably not joking.

John ignored him. “That we’ve known each other seven years.”

“Hmm. That long?”

“Yes. And you know what else?”

“I’ve no idea.” Sherlock took a sip of wine.

John put his fork down, leaned forward. “We met on this exact day seven years ago.”

“Hmm.” Sherlock said again. A mildly interesting fact. He then noticed John was continuing to look at him. Intently. Expectantly. Sherlock’s brows knitted together, then it hit him. Oh. It was the significance of this day, this anniversary of their meeting. He never had been one for marking dates. He tried, occasionally, but they just slipped by, overtaken by more important matters. He was best at noticing Christmas -- who could miss it, really -- terrible at remembering to buy presents. If he wanted to give someone something, he did when the moment struck him. He would occasionally bring home books for John, once an antique print, a finely done medical illustration depicting the muscles and tendons of the hand.

John was still looking at him, a half smile on his face. Then he looked down. “Anyway.” John said. “I just noticed that.”

They ate in silence for a few moments, then Sherlock spoke. “It doesn’t feel like seven years.”

“Oh? Longer or shorter?”

“Shorter. Blink of an eye.” Sherlock had to rethink that. “But then… other parts, longer. Like I’ve known you forever.”

John did a small double-take, kept his eyes on his plate, unexpectedly moved. He cleared his throat, making up his mind about something. “It’s been the best… and sometimes the worst… seven years of my life,” he admitted quietly. “Never boring,” he added quickly with a small laugh, taking a gulp of wine.

Sherlock held his gaze for a moment. “You’ve never bored me,” he said, pressing his leg against John’s under the table. “Not once.”

John remained quiet, enjoying the pressure against his shin. They were seated at the corner of the table, John on one side with his back to the window, Sherlock at the angle so he could face the window, just like they had seven years ago.

Not a coincidence, Sherlock realized. John had thought about all of this beforehand and knew him so well he could predict his precise arrival time and where he’d take a seat. It made him feel rather content.

John saw something shift in Sherlock’s expression, and he moved his hand to Sherlock’s leg, letting it rest there a moment, gauging his reaction. A glint in his eye encouraged him to slide it up higher, his fingers curving down between his thighs, then smoothly returning to the table when Angelo approached to refill their water glasses. Sherlock continued to let his shin lean against John’s.

They ate a few more bites, accompanied now by a delicious tension. But John seemed a bit nervous. Unusual, considering how many public places they’d managed to do far more than touch a leg, Sherlock thought. He smiled to himself, remembering a few…

“Sherlock,” John said, clearing his throat again, causing Sherlock to narrow his eyes. “There’s something else. You’ll probably think it’s stupid…” John moved his palm to Sherlock’s leg again, angling his body to face him. Sherlock was surprised when John took his right hand into his own, curled his fingers into his, hidden from view under the edge of the table. “I have something…” John reached into his pocket with his left hand, took something out. “This was my grandfather’s… He was in the army, too, not that it matters. Look, I just wanted to give this to you… I just… want you to have it.” He held open his palm, and Sherlock looked down to see a gold band gleaming.

Sherlock swallowed. “John--”

“It’s not -- it’s not like _that_ ,” John stammered. “I know you don’t believe in… certain conventions, and I can’t say that I do anymore, either, but…” He took a breath, then rushed through the rest of his words. “It’s a token of... everything, and if you would accept it, it would mean a lot to me.”

Sherlock stared at the ring, speechless. Utterly, completely speechless. His heart simultaneously threatened to stop beating from shock and to burst from his chest with an unguessed-at joy.

His jaw worked a few times, uselessly.

John shifted, relaxed his grip on Sherlock’s hand. Angelo had been headed their way to check on them, then reversed directions when he saw them, heads angled down, close together, looking at something John held under the table. He would light a thousand candles for this, if it was what he thought it was.

“I understand if you don’t… I mean… it’s…” John trailed off, not sure what to say or feel.

“Wonderful.”

John looked up.

“It’s a wonderful gift.” Sherlock finally said softly.

John blinked, realized he hadn’t taken a breath for quite a while. He inhaled, exhaled. “It’s sized for your right hand, in case you… you know… ever would want to wear it.”

“How do you know my ring size?”

John finally cracked a smile. “I’ve lived with you seven years. I know a lot of things, or at least know how to find them out.”

Sherlock extended his right hand, fingers out, still below the table, private. “I’ll try it on.”

John’s hands shook slightly -- the hands that never tremored -- as he slid the band onto Sherlock’s ring finger. It was a perfect fit. John held Sherlock’s fingers for a moment, cool and dry against his own warm skin.

They both looked at the gold band, the flame from the small candle on the table reflected on its surface, and they were struck still. The ring felt surprisingly light, like it’d always been there, Sherlock marveled.

“John…” Sherlock started, his hand still outstretched.

John raised his eyes.

“Tomorrow, remind me about the shopping. We need to get you something.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had the urge to subvert the usual "under the table" footsie/groping trope, and ended up thinking of this and getting all teary.


End file.
